Black Lagoon: Roberta | FRESH - SOLUTION |

“She’s not here for vacation,” Dutch continued. “Word from the cartels is that the CIA, the FARC, and some new shadow group called ‘The Ark’ all have a price on her head. She’s hunting someone. Or something. And where she goes, a funeral follows.”

Roberta turned to her, and for the first time, her eyes held something other than pain. They held a fragile, tentative hope.

“Ah, but you see,” he said, and he smiled. It was a terrible, triumphant smile. “I am not the one you should be aiming at.” black lagoon: roberta

One of the mercenaries, a man with a scar across his face, slowly lowered his weapon. Then another. And another.

She stood up, leaving a handful of crumpled, blood-stained dollars on the bar. “I only ask that you do not interfere. What is coming will be ugly. It will be biblical. And when it is over, there will be no Roberta left to thank.” “She’s not here for vacation,” Dutch continued

Roberta’s eyes flickered to Revy, and for a second, the room temperature dropped. “Two-bit,” she said softly. “Still hiding behind your loud mouth and your hair-trigger. You are a child playing with matches in a dynamite factory.”

Rock’s glass paused halfway to his lips. He had seen her only once, years ago, during the carnage she left in her wake while trying to rescue her young master, Garcia. She had been a force of nature then—a hurricane in an apron, wielding a shotgun with the grace of a concert pianist. But that storm had passed. She had returned to the Lovelace estate in Venezuela. Or so everyone believed. Or something

“You didn’t think I’d come alone, did you?” Ochoa chuckled, then coughed violently. “I taught you better than that. You always did let your heart get in the way. A good soldier has no heart.”